We Are the Flame
by TheImmortalWanderer
Summary: We are the flame and we are the moths burned in the fire. All of us have a story. We want to share them with you. Feel our courage, our terror, our triumphs, and our failures. Will you see us as more than just nameless fools or will you see us as little more than ashes. We are the flame, so burn with us as we tell our accounts in the ravenous shadows of the Darkest Dungeon.
1. The Old Road

Immortal: This is an experiment I am doing. Admittedly I am not as into writing as I used to be. As you can see my other work has been all but abandoned. But this one I feel very intrigued by. This is to take the point of view of all the Heroes in the game, the Heir, and even snippets of the Ancestor. I hope that this stays faithful to the original work, but of course with some of my own takes on it. Please let me know if there's any way I can improve upon this.

Disclaimer: The property herein is not own by me in any way, shape, form, thought, idea, concept, or means. All rights of the Darkest Dungeon and its lore are the property of Red Hook studios and their respective owners. This is and only shall be an affectionate story and take on the works of this dark tale.

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 **We Are the Flame**

Prologue

" _The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown"- H.P. Lovecraft_

The Old Road

You pick yourself up out of the wreckage of you carriage with trembling limbs and short, rapid breaths as your heartbeat throbs in your ears. Somehow you are completely uninjured, but very shaken. The old caretaker who had been driving the coach is nowhere to be seen after a gunshot struck the wheel of your carriage, sending it crashing into a thick, tall tree. The last you had seen of the old man was just as the carriage crashed, his terrified wailing echoing through the forest as he held onto the reins of the frightened horses. He had been dragged away, his high-pitched shrieks fading before you temporarily lost consciousness in the wake of the crash. Your belongings are strewn all over the road, the horses gone, and the fastest means of reaching your destination is completely useless now. The Old Road is surrounded by trees nearly cutting off any light from the failing sun. It's glow is a dull, dark orange that deepens the shadows and brings about a sense of claustrophobia. You almost start breathing harder as if to get all the air you can, lest the very air be robbed from your lungs.

You hear two voices talking and gaze at your hired help, such as they are. A Highwayman who calls himself Dismas is dusting off his coat and readjusting his blood-red scarf. With a seemingly casual gaze, he glances in your direction and sees that you are still alive. While he will see that you are not killed, maimed, or even mentally destroyed to the best of his abilities, he has no real interest in providing you comfort beyond that. Pain is your problem.

Nevertheless he quickly strides towards you, somewhat roughly checks you over for any injury, and once he is satisfied he steps back. With a relieving air of professionalism he tells you to stay close to him and the Crusader. He too is unharmed from the crash and you feel some measure of relief in knowing that at least one of your guards is fit to fight for you. His self-assured confidence, outward resilience, and level-headed demeanor gives you confidence in turn and you feel your heart beat start to take a calmer rhythm.

You follow Dismas over the pieces of wrecked carriage to see Reynauld with his back to you. He is kneeling with his hands holding his sword with the point in the ground in private prayer. He stood up after finishing his prayer and turned to face you and Dismas, his face covered by his helmet visor. Reynauld is an active-duty Crusader in spite of the wars being long done, his Order having survived the purges other knight fellowships were not so fortunate to live through. Despite the times changing, Crusaders still had a place in the world, and Reynauld had been permitted by his Order to take this crusade upon himself. While you keep your thoughts on religion and faith to yourself, it still feels comforting to have a real knight at your side to face what could possibly be something beyond the realm of weapons and arms. Despite both of your guards having seen better days as far as clothing, armor, and weaponry go, their confidence and outwardly brave appearance inspires you to recover your dignity and aspire to match their courage.

In a manner similar to Dismas, you pat your own coat shake the debris free, dust down your traveling boots, and steel yourself for the task to come. You look back at the carriage and think about how you came to this. The caretaker had shown up to your humble home one day and had delivered a knapsack containing letters, parchment, and gold coins. Whatever the old man had witnessed had been enough to horrify and shake the poor caretaker until he was a half-senile and broken shadow of his former self. Yet he still was loyal to your family no matter what and faithfully carried out what was asked of him. Your eyebrows furrow in concern as you hope that the old man somehow will be alright.

You only hear snippets of words from Dismas and Reynauld as they discussed matters amongst themselves. Feeling somewhat left out, you approach them and ask what they think you all ought to do.

"We make for the Hamlet. Then we will decide matters in a more thorough way.", replied Reynauld. You turn to look at the carriage and try to decide how you will be able to take your things along.

Reynauld places a slightly heavy hand on your shoulder and says respectfully, but firmly, "Leave the luggage. We must get you to safety and we cannot afford to be weighted down by non-essentials.". You look forlornly at your trashed belongings before you recognize a chest that is somehow completely intact and unharmed. You spot your family coat-of-arms on it and then you explain to Reynauld that the chest had something you absolutely needed to bring with you. The Crusader relents and bids you to hurry up with what you need. You dash over a broken wheel and crouch in front of the chest. You pull a key from your coat pocket and fit it into the lock. It smoothly clicks and you open it to reveal the contents.

Inside the chest was a large, brown knapsack with a thick leather strap, small pieces of parchment attached to the knapsack by way of red wax seals with your family's insignia on it. Inside the knapsack was all the money you possessed in the world and most importantly, the letters your Ancestor had written to you. You spotted an oil lantern miraculously intact from the crash and retrieve it. It thankfully still has oil and you are able to light it with a match Dismas provides. You return to the Crusader as he rests his longsword against his shoulder in one hand while the Highwayman pulls out his dirk and flintlock pistol as you announce you are ready to go.

The three of you make your way down the cobbled, uneven, grass-covered road with Reynauld leading the pack, Dismas following close behind him, and you bringing up the rear. You pulled out a letter from your knapsack and held the lamp closely to study it. It was a map detailing how to get to the Hamlet itself along with strange writings, symbols, and pictures. All the letters were written in an almost dead language and you didn't have the time nor the means to fully translate them before you dropped everything to answer the call to return to your ancestral lands. The only thing hinting at the secrets of the letters were detailed drawings of various creatures and things you couldn't even begin to understand. You were a mere university student studying to be an archaeologist and you had yet to complete your studies, but you had enough knowledge on how to translate some of the letters before you were forced to leave.

You begin to read aloud to break the silence, but you take care to do so gently. The silence of the Weald seemed to despise any kind of disturbance and your voice seemed louder than you intended, "

" _You will arrive along the Old Road. It winds with a troubling, serpent-like suggestion through the corrupted countryside. Leading only, I fear, to evermore tenebrous places. There is a sickness in the ancient pitted cobbles of the old road and on its writing path you will face viciousness, violence, and perhaps other damnably transcendent terrors. So steel yourself and remember: there can be no bravery without madness. The Old Road will take you to hell, but in that gaping abyss we will find our redemption_." ".

Your mind begins to wander as you follow Dismas and Reynauld, contemplating the letter and its writer. You were only a child when you had first visited the Darkest Estate, but you had no memories of it at all save for the cold ball of ice in the pit of your stomach in the rare mentions of it. You had never even met the man who had been living there. He was your great-grandfather, so referring to him as "Ancestor" seemed to you to be the wrong term to use. But your memory of him was nonexistent and you had, in fact, forgotten almost everything about him. You couldn't even remember what he looked like save for a picture that was included in the knapsack you carried. In fact, the knapsack you carried used to belong to him, and when you looked at the picture of the man, your parents compared you to him when he was a much younger man for the resemblance was uncanny. If there was one memory connecting you to the Darkest Estate, it was his voice. It was deep, imperial voice that even now made you feel weak before it for reasons you could not explain. For some reason, your Ancestor had included his will in the knapsack, explicitly stating he wanted you and no other to inherit his estate.

You return your attention to the letter and continue, " " _Brigands have run of these lanes. Keep to the side path, the Hamlet is just ahead._ " ". You blink twice and stare at the translation with a frown. With a moment to think things over, you question yourself if you had translated the words correctly. The words you read are not in the future or past tense... They are in the present tense.

You hardly have time to contemplate this new discovery when suddenly Dismas roughly grabs your coat and shoves you into a nearby bush.

"Stay down and shut up!", he hissed through gritted teeth.

Into the scratchy bush you tumble, dropping your lantern and nearly losing your letter as you hear rough, loud voices. You peer out and spot what look like two bandits. They were rough, dirty, violent-looking men in green hooded tunics wit tan leather armor. One had bandage wraps over his armored gauntlets while the other had fur-lined pauldrons with iron studs. Both of them had shadowed faces and gritted teeth at failing to catch their intended prey off-guard. The taller of the two carried a six-inch dagger and a batter short sword. The other's weapon of choice was a rusty blunderbuss.

The Brigands had no words and were fully intent on robbing you of your possessions and very life. The Brigand Cutthroat lunged at Reynauld with his shank, barely missing the Crusader. Dismas aimed his flintlock pistol and fired at the Brigand Fusilier, striking his shoulder and throwing his aim off. The Fusilier let out a pained grunt as he fired his blunderbuss, but the shot was wild and both of your guards dodged unharmed. You let out a silent cheer as Reynauld struck the Cutthroat with the pommel of his sword into his face, breaking his eye orbit and stunning him. Dismas sprinted towards the Fusilier as he tried to reload his weapon and with a horizontal slash of his dirk he cut thr robber's throat so deeply he almost beheaded him. Reynauld struck the other one with his sword, slashing him across the chest with such force that he was knocked flat onto his back with blood pumping from his wounds and soaking the grass red as he died in moments.

You realize you were watching the fight with bated breath and let out a gasp as you recovered your wits. Dismas wiped the blood off his dirk and reloaded is pistol before he strode over to you. He yanked you out of the bushes and checked you over with the same thorough roughness as before.

Upon seeing you were unharmed he said, "That wasn't so bad, was it?".

Despite being slightly peeved at this, you felt safer having witnessed the pair in action. You glance over at Reynauld to see him standing back up after leaning over the Brigand he killed. For a moment you thought you saw him stuff some things into a small pouch he carried on his hip, but seeing nothing else you decide it was just your mind playing tricks on you. You retrieve your lamp, get a match from Dismas, and reignite it before you three continue on your way.

A few minutes later you three stop by a tent that was undoubtedly used by the Brigands your guards had dispatched of. Dismas approaches the tent cautiously and inpected it with his pistol held at the ready. There was a small purse filled with gold coins and the Highwayman pocketed it without a word. You wonder if there aren't other Brigands who would come back to the camp, but you decided it didn't matter as the three of you carried on. Any misfortunes the Brigands suffered were surely well-deserved.

The Old Road soon becomes easier to tread and the welcoming sight of an open field greets your eyes. You shift your bag on your shoulder as you move to a grassy knoll and gaze out into the view. There, just there on a cliff overlooking the ocean was the Darkest Estate. You are nearly there.

Suddenly Reynauld shouts, "LOOK OUT!", and you hear a gunshot firing at your back. You expect for the projectile to tear through your body and even feel a sense of pain. But it was also a trick of your mind as you turn around to see Reynauld standing in front of you, gasping in pain as he holds his sword in front of him. He had placed himself between you and the gunshot, his armor managing to stop the projectile from entering his body. Had the distance been closer it would've penetrated it, but the impact still hurt. Dismas pulls you behind him and fired his pistol in the direction of the first gunshot causing you to fall back onto your butt as your heartbeat goes into flight or fight mode.

A Brigand Fusilier stepped out and fell forward with a gaping hole in his heart. Another Brigand also stepped out of the treeline, even larger than the others you had seen. His hulking body was round, covered in battle scars, and bare from the chest-up save for a green hood he wore like the smaller Brigands with gold rings on his neck. He had a smoking flintlock pistol in his belts and a cat o' ninetails whip in his massive hands. His eyes were shadowed as a mocking sneer formed on his face.

A sense of fury fills you at the Bloodletter's condescending smirk and at the cowardly way he tried to assassinate you with your back turned. You stand back up as he begins laughing crudely and with more anger than courage you point to him and order, "Send these vermin a message: the rightful owner has returned, and their kind is no longer welcome!".

Dismas charges at the brute and slashes at him with his dirk, sending blood flying in an arc. The thug let out a pained grunt as blood dripped out of his forearm that he raised to protect himself. He visciously swings his weapon and Dismas jumps back just in time avoid it. Reynauld slashed horizontally at the Bloodletter, successfully striking the man's unarmored belly. But the sword is blunted and rusty, robbing the weapon of its normal killing potential. Neverthelss the impact leaves a good-sized gash and the man let out a snarl as he swung his weapon again. This time it struck the Crusader across his chest and the brute strength from the blow sent him tumbling onto his back. Dismas went on the attack and jumped on his back as he repeateedly stabbed wherever he could. The Brigand let out a howl of pain as he thrashed and lurched in an effort to dislodge Dismas. He lurched forward, grabbed the Highwayman by his coat and pulled him down onto his back. Then he wrapped one hand around Dismas' throat and began to strangle him. Reynauld hadn't recovered yet and you picked up a fallen branch. You charged in with a wild yell and smashed it as hard as you could on the Bloodletters head, breaking it clean in two.

From the enraged scowl on his face as he slowly turned his head towards you with shaking fury, you feel your eyes widen and your heart sink at the sheer stupidity of your actions. You've had many good ideas in your life and this was NOT one of them.

But by then Reynauld pushed you aside and smashed the pommel of his sword directly on the Bloodletter's face, breaking the man's nose and nearly caving his face in. He stumbled back and let out a pained howl as he held his hands to his face. Reynauld picked up Dismas and the Highwayman rubbed his throat, coughing and gasping. He glared angrily at the brute as he reloaded his pistol quickly.

The two charged again to bring the menace down for good. Reynauld swung with both hands against the hulking bandit's wrists, nearly severing them as they dropped down from his bloody face. Dismas jumped up, pressed his pistol to the man's forehead and fired it point-blank. Blood, bits of skull, and chunks of brain exploded outwards violently as the man stood shaking on his legs. His body had not quite caught up yet, but soon it gave way and he collapsed with a dull thud.

Your breath comes out in short, rapid gasps as you feel a wave of nausea come over you. It bubbles in your intestines and you can no longer stand it. At the sight of the brain matter you vomit the soup you had directly onto the ground. Struggling to get a grip on yourself you vomit again and Dismas helps you to your feet. You notice Dismas is bleeding and you belt out a rapid-fire burst of apologies for his injuries.

"Calm down. I am quite alright. It's only a flesh wound.", Reynauld says. He pulls out a bandage and begins wrapping his wounds as you run a hand through your hair, trying to figure out just how he is so calm.

"Heh, we got shot at, whipped, choked, yet you look like you're ready to drop before either of us.", jokes Dismas dryly.

Somehow the absurdity and truth of the statement gets to you past the nausea and terror you felt. You find yourself breaking into a weary smile and begin laughing. Despite the scarf covering his face, Dismas looks amused as well. Reynauld for his part can't show whether or not he feels any amusement behind his helmeted visor, yet your ears still pick up a soft chuckle. You take a minute to gather your wits, take calming breaths to slow the racing in your heart, and you once more take a look at the runins of the manor and the dismal hamlet below it, resting near the ocean.

It's still a bit of a ways off as you grab the lantern and once more ignite it. You bring up the map again and you find the clearing as depicted in the map. It shows a narrow pathway down the hill back into the Old Road and you point the way out to your guards. Reynauld unflinchingly leads the way with Dismas following as he reloads his pistol. You readjust your knapsack and begin to follow when a chill creeps down your spine along with that ice in your stomach. For some reason yo can't explain, you turn around and your eyes widen in renewed horror. The viciousness and violence promised to you are nothing compared to what you now bear witness to.

An glowing, white-blue ethereal figure surrrounded by white mist, draped in a white and tattered cloak floats several feet in front of you. Its face is skeletal and rotten to the point you can't tell anything about it. You want to scream, to run, to be anywhere else, but something prevents you from moving as you continue to stare. Darkness starts covering your vision as the figure slowly lifts one thin and rotted arm to point for you to go back the way you came. You stared at the abyss in the figures empty eye sockets and they stared back at you.

Then like a lightening crack you hear your name called and as though you suddenly woke from a nightmare you turn to see Dismas waving for you to hurry up. You're bathed in a cold sweat and trembling. You look back quickly in front of you and you see nothing but the dead Brigands and leaves floating from a breeze.

"No, it's nothing. Nothing at all... It was nothing.", you murmur to yourself and you almost believe it. Then without looking back at the clearing you rejoin Reynauld and Dismas, descending down to the Hamlet.

Within moments the transcendent terror is forgotten.

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Immortal: I think this may be good enough to stand on its own, but what do you think? Please leave a review to see if you want this to continue and I will endeavor to do so. Either way, thank you for taking the time to read this. Any constructive criticism is also appreciated.


	2. The Heir

Immortal: Thank you all for the reviews you have left. I find that the more reviews I have, the more enthusiastic I am to write and make the work even better. Thank you again, and I will keep working hard to bring good chapters out to you all. Kind of a side note, I decided to make the Heir's gender ambiguous. After all this is YOUR point of view, so to make you feel more immersed in the story I am trying to keep things ambiguous.

Disclaimer: The property herein is not owned by me in any way, shape, form, thought, idea, concept, or means. All rights to the Darkest Dungeon and its lore are the property of Red Hook studios and their respective owners. This is and only shall be an affectionate story and take on the works of this dark tale. Please support the official release.

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Chapter 1: **The Hamlet**

" _The sight of such endless avenues of fishy-eyed vacancy and death, and the thought of such linked infinities of black, brooding compartments given over to cob-webs and memories and the conqueror worm start up vestigial fears and aversions that not even the stoutest philosophy can disperse." -_ The Shadow Over Innsmouth, H.P. Lovecraft

 **The Heir**

Dust stirs beneath your feet as you take your first weary step into the Hamlet. The path behind you stretches into an endless black swallowed by the Old Road as the sun is nearly hidden away. The Hamlet is open before you, bathed in orange-red light from the setting sun and you pull the second letter you managed to translate.

" **Welcome home, such as it is. This squalid hamlet, these corrupted lands, they are yours now, and you are bound to them. In time, you will know the tragic extent of my failings**."

You frown slightly at the letter and its contents. You had translated the words because you had to find out what you were getting into in a rush and hadn't given it too much thought on its meaning, but once again it feels as though your Ancestor is directly speaking to you. Bound to these lands? You think to yourself that you have the power to leave if you so chose, but the knowledge of bringing your family back to greatness is too important. All those stories your parents had told you about your family's lineage were almost fairy-tales to you given the sheer wonder they had. In any case you had come all this way, so you might as well see it through. You look from the map to the Hamlet as you take in your new surroundings to now fully appreciate your new home.

If there was one word that you could use to describe it, the word would indeed be squalid. All the buildings were in various states of disrepair and some were falling inwardly as if consumed by a putrid sickness. Their windows were boarded shut by rotting wood, the walls infected with mold, the roofs all blotched with various-sized holes, and broken down to where it was almost impossible that they should be standing. The buildings were corpses left to rot and the inhabitants were as maggots writhing to stay alive even as the flesh became withered by necrosis.

As you walked nearby the town the eyes you caught from the denizens of the Hamlet in the cracks of boarded up windows and half-broken doors were full of crazed fear that made you a mix of afraid and irritated. A portly man stumbled suddenly and very drunkenly from a nearby home that hadn't caved in on itself. His clothes are much fancier and cleaner than the other residents. A bottle filled with brown liquid sloshes messily over his unshaven double-chin as he takes a quick swig from it. He gazes at you blearily and wipes his mouth on his sleeve.

"Charming fellow isn't he?", Dismas says sarcastically, his hand still on his pistol.

"The town drunk no doubt.", Reynauld adds, slightly disdainful of the drunkard.

He approaches you with unsteady steps as he holds a roll of parchment and opens it up to identify who you are. He apparently had been waiting for you for some time given the impatient look on his inebriated face. He slurs his words as he identifies himself as the Hamlet's Town Crier and your liaison to deliver your orders to the Halmet citizens. Furthermore, in the event of important dates he would be the one to pass on the details to the townsfolk. Your nose crinkles at the man's sloven appearance and the eye-watering alcoholic fumes that radiate off him.

You wanted to keep things quiet on your entry, but before Reynauld could instruct the man to go away the Town Crier pulled out a brass bell handle and rang it three times before loudly calling, "HEAR YE, HEAR YE! BE IT KNOWN THROUGHOUT THE LAND THAT THE DARKEST HEIR HAS COME! THE HEIR TO THE DARKEST ESTATE HAS ARRIVED!"

His voice echoed and a murder of crows let out harsh croaks before flying into the sky. You look around as the inhabitants start to peer out of their homes and take in your appearance. The faces were mired down with sullen hopelessness and meek resignation at their lot. They looked so weak and pathetic, shrinking before you as though they are terrified animals who expect to be beaten at the drop of a hat. But even despite the terror they give off, you see something else that they can't hide in their shrinking faces.

Hate. Terrified, resentful, sullen hate.

The hate you feel brings a sense of confusion and helpless at their gazes. Why did they have such a contradictory demeanor? The terror and hatred in their faces were held in almost equal measure, but the fear they displayed was more prominent. Their wretched cowardliness before you makes you wonder briefly if they are even humans anymore with the way they slink and drag their bodies around. Even those who were burly in appearance were weighed down with a sullen resignation and gave you no more than a disgusted look. You can't help the emotions as they worm through your intestines when you regard the creatures draped in human skin. You feel disgust as thick as phlegm well in your stomach along with a potent mixture of sorrow and pity at the at the hopeless despair and foul resignation these people have given themselves over to. It wasn't fair that these people should so needlessly suffer, but at the same time you can't help but feel a sense of indignation at the hate these people give unfairly give you.

The Town Crier drunkenly wanders off and mutters that you better get things fixed soon or, "Yer jolly well fugged.". Dismas spots an open path and tells you, "I say we go hide out for a spell lest these fools decide to hold a public hanging." You agree and follow Dismas and Reynauld away, but the crowd doesn't chase you, instead fixating their irrational gazes that you can feel singe into your neck even as you retreat.

After a while of walking through the Hamlet you, Dismas, and Reynauld walk to the town center and you see a cracked, crumbling statue strangled with brown vines. You step forward and take a closer look, pulling down some branches that seem to try to hide the figure. It takes a good tug, but you get it down and you let out a silent gasp. It was your Ancestor. You drop the letter you have been holding onto almost absentmindedly and Reynauld picks it up for you. He hands it back and you take it, but some words are still present that catches your attention when you look from the letter to the statue, " **In time, you will know the tragic extent of my failings**.". From what little you knew, the man had been responsible for driving your family into hard times and forcing them to live faraway in a lands where your name was not as well known. Rumor, scandal, and controversy had surrounded your family name, but you were fortunate enough to have been able to modestly make something of yourself.

From the town square you look around and see more of the Hamlet's corruption. Nearby the statue is what appears to be a wagon made from faraway lands. But the wagon is boarded up and flayed in pieces to signify its neglect. There is a sign with a lidded eye gazing out as though struck dumb by the wretchedness of the surroundings. Nomadic tribes bore that symbol as you recall the history lessons you studied.

Nearby the wagon are two equally wretched buildings, one bearing the symbol of a warriors Guild, and the other a rotting sign that indicated the Hamlet blacksmith. The shield and crossed swords of the Guild were recognizable by the reputation you knew of. They were renown to have the best combat and weapon instructors in the land, having learned secrets from far and wide in even the most obscure training methods. The blacksmith's work and home looked perhaps the worst off between the two. It was also boarded up and the thatch roof was caving in. A chilling cold breeze swept from its empty forges and you felt the hairs on your arms stand up. Such buildings should have been alive with the ringing of hammers giving birth to new weapons and learned instructors teaching their trainees how to be better fighters instead of being as lifeless as abandoned tombs.

Dismas you see is approaching what looks like the Hamlet's Tavern. He peers through the boarded up window and gazes inside the planks. He seems to be talking to somebody, but his hand is in his coat pocket holding his pistol and he pulls out the purse full of gold coins that he obtained from the brigand tent with the other. The man keeps talking as you see that miserable and derelict Tavern's roof cave in a little from the mold and rot that had accumulated from its longstanding neglect. After a while of talking Dismas shakes his head ruefully and rejoins you. There are people in the Tavern still, but he was told to leave politely by the owner. Said owner told him this while Dismas stared down the end of his blunderbuss. Immediately you decide that when the first chance comes, you will be investing into the Tavern. If a place of merriment is brought back, then that could be the first step in bringing life back to this broken place.

Oddly enough, the Sanitarium is close by the Tavern. When the Hamlet was built, whoever thought to put such a madhouse next to a place meant for comforts and relaxation must have been crazy themselves! The Sanitarium has its doors boarded up, but this you feel relief from as it is meant to keep the madmen locked away. However your hopes are dashed when you see a just how broken the cold stones are and just how easy one could leave it. You spot a figure standing near the door with their back to you. Leaving Reynauld and Dismas behind, you approach the figure and call them to get their attention. The figure turns around and you feel a shiver go down your spine as the figure regards your face. Reynauld clutches his sword a bit more tightly at the surprise.

Dismas is less restrained and hisses with wide eyes, "Holy hell!"

They are wearing the black robes of a surgeon with a green line running down the middle, moving diagonally down opposite sides to the bottom of the robes with the same green color covering the bottom edge. A worn, brown leather belt holding various pouches is adorned on their thin waist. They also are wearing brown, leather pauldrons with round metal studs placed equally apart from the other. The identity of this figure remains a mystery due to the bandages wrapping their arms, cutting them off from the outside world before being encased in thick brown gloves. But most obvious and disturbing of all is the white beak mask and tinted goggles worn by the figure. This was a Plague Doctor. You had heard that these types of medical providers tended to go where the diseases were most prominent, the battlefields most gruesome, and the infestations that were in the greatest number. Most if not all of them tended to do this to increase their first-hand knowledge of disease and injuries instead of having a set clinical practice or making house calls.

After a few short moments the Plague Doctor speaks, their voice muffled by the mask and further hiding their true identity, "From the look on your fussbudget face I would assume that you are the Darkest Heir the Town Crier has been yammering about? I could hear his drunken all the way here.". Despite the muffled voice, you can hear the annoyed tone at Dismas' remark.

You retain your dignity at the insult and you politely introduce yourself and ask if they are one of the doctors working at the sanitarium.

"This hovel of a madhouse? Hardly." replies the Plague Doctor, "I am Doctor Badu Paracelsus."

"I think I recall that last name. Wasn't that the person who founded toxicology?", you reply, vaguely recalling the name when you dabbled in amino acids used to date finds.

The tone from Badu becomes a bit more affable as they say, "Oh, the Darkest Heir is a learned scholar like myself? While I am not related to said father of toxicology I did make it one of my branches of study. What discipline did you study?"

"Archaeology.", is your reply.

Badu crosses their arms and says, "Perhaps we might work well together then. I have come to this pigsty of a Hamlet to further my knowledge on all disease and injuries. The caretaker had told me that this was the place to come to seek my fortune and that you will be willing to take my services on."

You are somewhat put off by this bold declaration, but after thinking about it you decide that having a Plague Doctor as a hired-hand would be very useful. After all, if either Dismas or Reynauld got hurt when they were out into the lands then it would be good to have somebody schooled in the art of medicine to be there to apply first-aid. You nod and tell Badu that they are hired, but a formal contract would be made later this week. Tomorrow would be when the first expedition would be made.

Reynauld has been silent, but now he begins moving with a purpose away from the Sanitarium and towards a graveyard. You call for him, but he doesn't stop, and you call for Dismas and Badu to follow you. The Highwayman swears in annoyance but follows you while Badu grumbles that running is not something they had in mind when getting hired. Reynauld swiftly moves past the headstones, up a stone stairway, and continues moving until he stops before another squalid building.

A minute later both you and Dismas arrive behind him. A bit out of breath, you ask in irritation why he suddenly took off like that. He doesn't reply and instead looks ahead. One look in the direction he was gazing and you understand why; the Hamlet's Abbey. A very devout man like Reynauld would indeed be affected by the ruin of a place meant to give hope and comfort to those it held meaning to.

The Abbey was perhaps the most tragic of all the derelict buildings in the Hamlet. The welcoming doors should have been open, bringing all those in need of spiritual comfort into its fold. The delightful art of the stained-glass windows should have shown the revered saints, holy warriors, and the goodness of the Light, inspiring those who sought something to strive for. The tiled roof was caved in with the eerie simulator of a gunshot wound with just as much blackness cauterizing it. The bell tower that should have brought joy with its majestic ringing was gone, and all that remained was a stump as though a limb had been sheared off and the planks of wood sticking upwards were the remnants of bone.

It was as though a shamed woman were covering herself for fear of the outside world and the judgement of unforgiving people. Reynauld knelt down, implanted his sword in the dirt and began to quietly pray with his hands gripping his sword's handle. Dismas stood off to the side, his arms crossed as he looked away from the quiet reverence Reynauld held for his faith. Your gaze went between the two as you decided to quietly let the Crusader pray undisturbed.

Reynauld had not divulged too much about his past and neither had Dismas for that matter. But in the short time you knew them there were a few things that had been brought up. Reynauld was very God-Fearing and prayer seemed to be the thing that brought him more peace than anything else. He seemed to be haunted by the past although he would not share the details with you, but even worse were rumors the other members of his Order had spread to you. Due to his time in the wars, Reynauld had developed Kleptomania. When things were scarce, looting ones dead comrades had become a necessary evil to survive another day. But as time got on, Reynauld had begun doing it almost unconsciously even when he was no longer in war, and this seemed to be one reason why praying was such a source of relief to him.

Dismas on the other hand already had a reputation for being a Known Cheat. Reynauld had been the one to point this out to you, which Dismas didn't deny although he stated it was more to do with bad rumors and hearsay. The Plague Doctor finally catches up and upon seeing Reynauld's fevrent praying they pull out a notebook and a pencil before rapidly scribbling documenting what they see. Badu was definitely a scholar through and through, ever seeking to improve their knowledge on the workings of the material world.

A cold breeze blows through the air, along with a strange noise that seems misplaced here in the hamlet. You strain your ears and catch the sound of... singing? You follow the noise and the sound becomes more audible. It was a nameless song, but the vocalizing was a very pleasant sound. You follow along and you see a figure sitting on a stone bench, their features cloaked by a hooded figure wearing tan-colored robes and worn out armor covering her torso and spiked pauldrons placed on her shoulders. A red sash was wrapped around her waist and its tails fluttered softly in the breeze. Beside her was a rusty, spiked mace that had seen better days. The book she carefully held in her lap was open and she was softly humming a hymn. The tune was recognizable from the ones you heard back home and from behind you Reynauld was humming along with the tune. He had risen up from his prayer and walked up to the Vestal. She had stopped singing and looked at you all in surprise.

"You have a gift for song, blessed Vestal.", says Reynauld. Dismas snorts in amusement, but the Crusader ignored him.

"Your standard...", says the Vestal in a quiet voice as she looks over Reynauld, "Is that the standard of the Crusaders?".

"It is.", replied Reynauld.

The Vestal smiles and closes her book as Badu speaks, "Of course you would be here Selena. The spiritual health is something sorely lacking in this place and further degenerates this Hamlet."

You are a bit surprised that the Plague Doctor has some concern for spiritual health as opposed to just physical health. They notice this and say, "I have found that the body tends to fight harder against disease and injury in those with a greater spiritual leaning as opposed to those of a more agnostic persuasion. Those fools at the university would tell you otherwise."

The Vestal speaks to you directly, "Are you truly the Darkest Heir?". You nod, but before you could make any introductions the woman says, "I implore you to allow me to aide you on your errand."

"Will surprises never end?", comes the Highwayman's laconic reply, summing up your thoughts to all that's transpired so far in the day.

You clear your throat and explain to Selena that your errand is very dangerous and that perhaps she would be better suited to providing comfort at the Abbey. She shakes her head and replies, "I cannot in good conscience do that. Nobody comes here anymore, and the Abbot hasn't the means to repair this place by himself. He has sent petitions for help and has gotten so desperate that he has even petitioned his elder brother!"

"Why would his brother be of concern? Is he another rich fop?", asked Dismas.

Selena gravely shook her head and said, "I'm afraid it's much worse. He had been excommunicated, although the Abbot hasn't told me anything more than that he was excommunicated for fanaticism beyond the norm. But the Abbot and I have been utterly unable to bring any source of comfort to these people and he is reaching the end of his rope if he has appealed to that madman for help.".

For a moment you think back to another letter and picture you had been given by your ancestor, but the Vestal continues and interrupts your thoughts, "So please, if I can help bring about true change I must do so! I am not merely like the other vestal virgins. I am a sister of battle of the Order of The Light! I have been schooled in the ways of combat, healing, and Light! I will strike foes down with great vengeance and furious anger so that all may fear and praise the Light!".

Her voice changed from the soft-spoken voice one would expect from a kind nun and changed to a fiery religious zeal that made Reynauld nod in approval. The other three wait for your decision and it takes you a bit longer to decide than with Badu. The more sympathetic side feels that you shouldn't put her in danger despite her assurance that she could handle herself in a fight. But the practical side says that having four people go into the lands would be more beneficial than three. Like Badu had said, spiritual comfort would be useful against injury and disease. If the worst happened, so long as you had the other three then losses would be acceptable.

"Alright, you're hired. I'll have a formal contract drawn up for you in the coming days. Tomorrow is the first day that you, Badu, Dismas, and Reynauld will be going into the Ruins of the Darkest Estate.", you say. Selena smiles and bows her head before saying, "Light bless you. I ask though that if you are able to provide funds, that the Abbey b among the first buildings restored here. The better this place is, the more confident the people here will be in you."

"Oi, how about you set up the Tavern first? Get people drunk enough and they'll forget all about their problems.", Dismas argues.

"Right, I'm sure plenty of ale will provide health to the already rotted Hamlet.", Badu says sarcastically.

"The Vestal is right. Clean up the Abbey first and the other comforts can be seen to.", Reynauld states firmly.

They begin to argue, but you manage to calm them down by telling them that you can make both the Abbey and the Tavern operational next week.

"For now we should turn in for the night and get as much rest as we can.", you say as you reach into your knapsack again. Inside is another letter and a key with the Darkest coat-of-arms on it. You break the seal and inside is a map that shows a house in the Hamlet that you will be able to live in along with a barracks for your hired hands. From the brief description in the letter that you take a few minutes to slowly translate in your head, this house was also owned by your Ancestor and was his temporary domicile whenever he had business in the town and needed to stay the night or had to entertain guests. The night was getting on and you are beginning to feel your eyes droop with tiredness. It had been a very long and eventful day, so your body's tiredness was finally beginning to catch up as you lead the way to your new quarters.

Thankfully your new home is by the shore, just outside the town proper, but an easy five minute walk to the town square. The full moon illuminates the water, shining brightly in your eyes and the stars shine like diamonds in the sky, tempting you almost to reach out and grab them. Ahead of you is your new domicile held over the water via sturdy stone pillars and wooden struts. The two-story building is also somewhat lacking in appearance, yet somehow it is much more intact and well-kept than all the other homes put together. Given the animosity you received from the inhabitants, you are somewhat relieved that the place hasn't been burnt down out of spite. Smoke is billowing out of the chimney from the second floor, waving about in the ocean breeze. Above the entrance was the coat-of-arms for the Darkest Estate and on top of the raven's head was another crow. It cawed at you harshly as you and the rest approached before flying away. The sound of the waves brushing against the sand is a soothing noise and you unlock the door and it slowly opens with a creak, the handles rusted from the salty sea air.

"MASTER! YOU ARE ALIVE!", came the wild screech of the caretaker as he holds a lamp above your head with a manic grin so wide it seems to split his face in two

"SON OF A WHOREBISCUIT!", roars Dismas as he nearly shoots the caretaker in his surprise.

Both Badu and Selena let out short yelps in shock and Reynauld placed his hands on his sword, nearly yanking it out of its scabbard.

You let out a string of cursing so foul that your mother would have probably had your tongue removed for it, and the Vestal blushes at the colorful language out of the corner of your eye. Your hearbeat pulses loudly in your ears, your every muscle tensed to run like hell, and a wave of irritation

The caretaker doesn't seem to notice this and he continues his crazed grinning as he says in a tone as though he is constantly on the brink of breaking into laughter, "M-Master, I have kept this clean I have! Yes, yes, clean and livable as best I can manage anyhow, ehehheehehee. Th-the barracks are prepared too, fresh linen, clean rooms, soft beds, all necessary items. Dinner already made, hot, delicious soup and bread! Also, also there is wine! Yes, the good wine for a good night from a good caretaker. I have good enough haven't I? Old Hanson is good isn't he?". Despite your irritation at the jump scare and the lunacy of the caretaker, his eagerness to please you is so genuine that you can't help be feel your anger ebb away. With a sigh you assure him that he has done well and may retire for the night. The caretaker bows rapidly several times before shuffling away with rapid footsteps like a Sanderling bird before going into his room and shutting the door. You hear his deranged muttering to himself as you lead your party into the house. A round table has been set with still warm soup and bread pieces along with several candles illuminating the room.

"Be a shame to leave it uneaten.", speaks Dismas as he takes a seat and begins hungrily eating. Selena also take her seat while Badu gathers their food and states that they have studies to attend to and will eat alone. You slowly eat the soup and bread as Reynauld states he will eat his meal later. He wants to provide some maintenance on his sword and armor due to the damage they sustained. Selena says a brief prayer of thanks before eating, but before she is halfway through, Dismas has already finished his meal. He drains his mug of wine in one go before he sighs and states he is turning in for the night. It's just you and Selena, but you focus on your meal, having nothing interesting to say.

"Do not be afraid.", comes Selena's soft voice. You look up at her and she continues, "As long as you do well, the Light will always be there for you. Don't fret over the happenings of the past or what is to come. Today has enough worries don't you think?". Her gentle smile brings a small one to your lips and you nod, not wanting to say anything rude. The Vestal stands up after finishing her meal, saying a short prayer of thanks before retiring. You notice she left her wine untouched. Perhaps being a Vestal meant in addition to a vow of celibacy she had also vowed to abstain from other of humanity's vices?

Feeling somewhat guilty, you take her mug and also drain the contents in one go before finishing your mug off. A warm feeling rises in you and the cold chill from the ocean air begins to ebb away. You are feeling pleasantly light-headed from the alcohol and make your way upstairs to where your room is. You unlock the door waiting at the top of the staircase and step inside. A warm fireplace is already lit inside, protecting you from the cold. There is a dresser with a mirror, a closet, a large burgundy rug on the floor, and a wolf's head above the fireplace. But most importantly is the king-sized poster bed in the corner of the room. A pajama dress is already laid out for you and you shed your clothes before changing into your pajamas. It is a rich silk texture that caresses you as you get into bed, marveling at the comfort the mattress provides. It is even better than the one you had at home and you settle into the thick quilts, the feathered pillows and close your eyes as the worries of the day start to lose meaning.

Your mind begins to drift away, but one last thought crosses your mind before you fall into the oblivion that is sleep.

" _How did I know where to find my room in a place I had never been to before..._?"

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Immortal: Here you are folks! The next chapter will be from the point of view of a different character. Who shall it be? Only time will tell. In the meantime, I hope this was an enjoyable chapter to read. Please leave a review and any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.


	3. Halloween Special: The Ancestor

Immortal: Seeing as how it is Halloween, I felt that it would be due and proper for me to release a new chapter. This one I hope was good because it takes place many years ago. It takes place during the younger years of the Ancestor. I hope I had caught the character close enough or was able to present him in a good enough fashion.

Disclaimer: The property herein is not owned by me in any way, shape, form, thought, idea, concept, or means. All rights to the Darkest Dungeon and its lore are the property of Red Hook and their respective owners. This is and only shall be an affectionate story and take on the works of this dark tale. Please support the official release.

Happy Halloween!

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 **Halloween Special:** The Crimson Court

 _"Visualize twenty to thirty people set loose upon each other mentally-encouraged to do whatever they wanted to one another; no limits set but those of imagination. As their minds began to open up- or close in, if you like-so did every aspect of their lives together. People stayed here months, then years. The house became their way of life. A way of life that grew a little more insane each day. Isolated from the contrast of normal society, the society in this house became the norm. Total Self-indulgence became the norm. Debauchery became the norm . Brutality and carnage became the norm"_ \- Hell House. Richard Matheson

 **The Ancestor**

 _In those younger years, my home was a hive of unbridled hedonism. A roiling apiary where instinct and impulse were indulged with wild abandon..._

The sounds of conversation reached from the gardens below the balcony as I gazed down unto the revelry below me. It was the day of All Hallows' Eve, yet the display of hedonism and wanton cruelty below me that would render sheer horror and disgust upon anybody with any sense of virtuous morality barely registers to my jaded senses. There was always a cry for entertainment and pleasures that would replace any dignity with madness, for wine that would light a fire to their souls, for music that would excite the soul, and perversions that would slake even the most depraved of libidos. To my eyes they were humans only because the flesh they outwardly showed were visible, for inwardly they were as pests that I could hardly bear to tolerate for any great lengths at a time. Their words were similar to the irritation I felt when a gnat would buzz in my ear, their faces covered in what passed as fashionable makeup were as fraudulent as their conceited personalities, and in spite of the manner in which I dealt with them, I was universally praised as a most generous Host with no equal that could be found. In truth I was at one time every bit the same hedonistic and self-indulgent as the others, but I found I could not be satisfied by the same thing over and over. Boredom had ever been increasing its presence like a nagging itch that would not go away. In time I had begun to grow rather blase with the revelry involved with humiliating the lesser folk who served us, unmoved by the pleasures of unrestrained lust, and apathetic to the cloying praise that chattered out of the mouths of the gentries who sought my favor.

I observed the party below my perch and a vexed sigh slid from my lungs as the attendees raised yet more glasses of wine in my name and not for the first time I began to wish them removed from my home. Great stone tables were adorned with the most gourmet of dishes out in great silver platters, trays holding the rarest vintage wines were carried by my maids and manservant's, and patios were set aside for the guests to have their unapologetic trysts with whomever was willing or unwilling. Pumpkins carved with the death masks of the macabre, skeletons dressed in the guise of noblemen were placed beneath the lanterns to give a frightening leer, and bats made from parchment were hung from the trees as they "flapped" whenever a gust blew through. As a man of status it was an obligation to display the grandiose of my wealth, my home, and all that I could offer to spread my influence and further increase my wealth. It was usually the best way to make business partners as well as see to the persuasion of favorable actions when our activities became a bit… much. Despite the status and titles of nobility, I noted without much irony that my "peers" were more wanton, cruel, and perverse than the common serfs they claimed to stand above.

The Crimson Court, so aptly named for the crimson roses and plants that exclusively grew there, was swarming with Chevaliers and their Manservants, Esquires and their Courtesans, and of course the Estate custodians and maids doing their best to avoid eye contact. I noticed a group circling around one particular individual and with morbid fascination I realized who it was. The Viscount was stuffing himself whilst his Sycophants cheered on his display of sickening gluttony, shoveling every bit of food he force down his slavering gullet. His voracious appetite and emptying of my larders was not what irritated me, but the fact that he oftentimes would leave atrocious messes that my custodians would labor well into the night to remove, leaving them with a foul odor that utterly rankled my sense of smell and forcing me to order them outside to prevent the stench from invading my person or home until the odor was absent. The worst instance I recalled was when the lavish spread began to spoil, this ravenous gourmand gleefully proposed we sample the fetid pile of composting refuse! The notion was dismissed as decidedly unhealthy, but days later he was found cackling madly atop a heap of rancid comestibles, licking his fingers in delight. Thankfully he seemed to be restraining himself to what was present in front of him, but he would continuously scratch at his wig, staining it with bits of his meals and turning the edge a puslike yellow.

Several Courtesans were keeping to themselves as a servant girl carried a tray of wine and glasses to them. Haughtily they demand for her to pour their drinks and afterwards dismissed her with a flick of a wrist. But then as she turned to leave, an Esquire sprung up behind the girl and grabbed the bottom of her dress in a vulgar display of lewd delight and shoved her forward, causing her to fall flat with the tray and its contents flying out of her hands, her dress pulled over her head to display her pantaloons for all to see. The court began laughing coarsely, while the Viscount began to pelt bits of food at her, and another Courtesan cruelly drenched wine on the helpless girl as she slowly picks herself up. I watch her humiliated face begin to tear up as she picks up the pieces of glass and the broken wine bottle, not daring to complain about the vulgar innuendos being hurled at her before the other maids carefully assist her. I sighed in annoyance because now I will have to deal with that particular wine being replaced as well as ordering another clean uniform for the girl. I was hardly sympathetic, but the itch came back to my skin and it was making my skin feel flush with irritation.

Still, there was some good to come of it, because the excitement in the air becomes more palpable. The Esquire is suddenly being congratulated by the other Nobles of the Court because they know what was coming. He clearly was a guest of a guest who had never been to my home before, because the others knew that I would not suffer fools who damaged my property. I cared little for the servant girl or any other of my employed hands, but they had their uses and so it was practical to see to their well-being to a certain extent. In truth they were probably better off as my hired hands than they were the common folk in the Hamlet in spite of my rule of benign neglect. The truth of that fact was being put on display as a hunchbacked dwarf stood on a table to announce the next round of games were to be held soon. To stave off the boredom and whet their appetite, the Baron announced loudly that one game was already set up.

Intoxication has invariably taken hold, and innocuous frivolities would escalate into even more disturbing diversions. Orchestrating the hideous affair was a hunchbacked fiend who seemed to delight in proportion to the suffering he caused. The Baron had plucked my unlucky Caretaker for supposedly failing to trim the roses to my specifications and made him the subject of one of the many games he had set up for entertainment. The frightened middle-aged man was placed inside an bronze cage that forced him to stand upright, placing his arms and hands outwards along with his head being the only thing he was capable of moving about. This irked me for many reasons, chiefly the fact that he was a… "guest" for a lack of a more appropriate term and therefore had no right to order my servants about. Furthermore the Caretaker was altogether not at all a disappointment when it came to maintenance of the Estate, and while I did not want to go through the trouble of hiring a new hand I will admit I was more curious as to what he would be subjected to, hence my lack of intervention on his behalf. My apathy to his plight and my lack of personal attachment to any one person is a practicality that I am grateful for given the imprisoned custodians impassioned cries and desperate plea for my intervention on his behalf.

The Baron looked up at me, eagerly waiting for what I would deem the best course of action. I could have stopped him I suppose, but I was a slave to my own appetite, and restraint would have rendered me a hypocrite. Seeing no reaction from me as his cue, he began what he called, "The First Act". The attendees eagerly listened as the dwarf displayed a heavy sledgehammer and placed a melon at his feet. He pointed to the prisoner and then with some effort for it wasn't easy to lift the hammer over his hunchback he smashed the melon. The Caretaker howled with terror as the Baron offered the hammer to a Chevalier. Like a madman he tried to free himself as the Chevalier was blindfolded and spun around. The other servants looked on in silent terror, but knew better than to intervene. The maid from before was now freely crying as the Chevalier made his first swing. It was short and struck the cage with a loud bang, causing the old custodian to bleat with terror. The onlookers let out boos and hollers of displeasure as I felt disappointment with the swing. Twice more he swung, each missing before he finally had the blindfold removed in frustration. "MASTER! Pleaaaheeheeheeheeeeese….!", wailed the Caretaker and I felt a fresh wave of annoyance at the groveling cry for rescue.

Having witnessed enough I commanded the Chevalier to stop as he lifted the hammer once more. "If you are insistent on playing a game, the least you could do is play it fairly or not at all.", I said, hoping that he would see the game through albeit with sportsmanship. The Chevalier's face was flush with a murderlust that hid the blush on his powdered face, but in a grand display of defiance and displeasure at my intervention he slapped the Caretaker as he began to cry tears of relief and stormed off to drink more wine. The game now over, the Baron began to seek others to help with the entertainment, leaving the man imprisoned, and the First Act over. After ordering the other servants to release him and continue their duties, I decided then was the time to set the stage for the act had been waiting for. Firstly I was to gather the actors...

I left my temporary haven and made my way to the Courtyard, occasionally stopped by an Esquire who would engage in the same self-important topics of how my generosity, wealth, lavish home, would be better if only I took advice from him. Other times the Courtesans would try to fawn over me, ask why I hadn't take mistress, or how lonely I must be. Their sickening and pompous masquerade became more and more irritating, sending the itch across my hands as I carefully sought out the particular Esquire and Chevalier that had the audacity to vandalize my property, for I was now focused on receiving proper restitution.

By the time I found the Esquire, he was quite inebriated and drinking directly from the wine bottle, his powdered wig disheveled and the wine staining his cravat. Outwardly, my demeanor was affable as expected of a generous Host and I thanked him for his generous sampling of the house vintage. Inwardly, I was seething with annoyance at the display so fiercely I felt as though I would erupt into a frenzy of violence at any moment. Keeping myself in check, I began to converse with the Esquire before shifting my topic to the maid. I praised him for the way he put her in her place and bemoaned the fact that my servants were more willful than I would have liked, but my charity was something that I could not help but bless the poor souls with. The man told me he never had that trouble with his servants, for he had special ways of dealing with them if they displeased him, especially the female servants of his house. They had to be broken at the earliest possible time, to show who was the Alpha and that his rule was incontestable. He spilled a fair amount of wine on my shoes as he continued to tell me why I was so poor a master in regards to my servants and I nearly retrieved the knife in my coat pocket at that moment, the itch now feeling as though my hands were being voraciously bitten, but instead I clasped my hands behind my back and nodded at his wisdom.

He made a few lustful and altogether indecent remarks about my maid's appearance and what he had seen when I was struck by inspiration. With a thoughtful voice I suggested that if he wanted to have time with the maid, he need only have asked rather than playfully tease her, for she was a shy and timid soul that was unaccustomed to ones such as he. "After all I would make for a pitiful host if I could not offer my guests something to keep them entertained? She is the most beautiful in my household and I assure you would be good enough to perhaps become a mistress if not a favorite of yours.". He laughed and said that despite her being older than he would have liked, my generosity was something to behold and he would indeed take up on my offer. He went to look for her when I implored him to not trouble himself, for I would send her to him. All he had to do was wait by the habitat of the exotic pet I had to display his dominance. With a drunken leer he staggered off down a cobbled stone pathway I directed him towards. My hand suddenly began to feel a muscle cramp and I realized just how tightly my fist hand been clenched to unconsciously relieve the prickling that plagued me. I shook it to relieve the pain as I called for a servant to clean my shoes.

The maid returned, still disheveled after having no rest nor time to properly clean herself up. She apologetically cleaned my boots with the hem of her dress, wiping the tears off her face. I ordered her to face me and she obediently did so, nervously clutching the hem of her apron. Looking back at the incident, I recall that she was rather lovely to look at, with soft green eyes the color of summer grass, her chestnut colored hair was stained with the wine and somehow it did nothing to rob it of its luster. Her lips were a saccharine-sweet peach color. I placed my hand under her chin, finding her cream-colored skin to be pleasant to the touch like expensive silk, and I observed the stains of tears and the humiliated despair in her eyes. I still did not care for her plight, yet I could not help but find the indignity she suffered to be as an attack on my person, and perhaps seeing her Master intervene would form an illusion that I was sympathetic, prompting a greater sense of loyalty to whatever vice I would make her a part of. Yes... To see what would become of this girl if I elevated her would be a rather interesting diversion and whatever came of that next... well, that would come in time. So I released her from my clasp to her confusion, and ordered her to return to the servants quarters to retire for the evening. She attempted to protest and assure me that she would carry on, but I would not have any of it. Assuring her with an easy smirk that she was not going to be punished, she bowed and hurried away.

Next I hunted down the Chevalier, who was complaining loudly to anybody who would listen how he had to be thwarted from his game. It was unthinkable that the Host would stand up for a servant! The sheer nonsense of it was so insulting to him that he almost requested a duel. "Come now old sport, let us not let the existence of a servant thwart an otherwise good time.", said the Baron apologetically. The dwarf always had made me uncomfortable, not the least which was his tendency to create the most sickening of entertainments that I would distance myself from whenever possible. It was my home and I could have ordered him to stop, but I would have been considered a hypocrite amongst the other nobles and so I refrained. The Baron spotted me and he began to speak on my behalf about the custodian and how I ought to let him be dealt with. I humored the dwarf for a moment before telling him we are not animals, so we ought to let an animal itself be the solution to our problems. Already we had somebody waiting to assist him, and he needed help preparing for his role in the upcoming games such that the Baron was specially qualified for. He immediately caught my meaning and he rubbed his hands together, his thick fingers wiping the sweat from his palms as he began to hobble away as fast as his legs could take him. The Chevalier huffed and said that I had better make sure that the entertainment more than made up for earlier lest he would duel me personally for the affront to his honor. Politely I bowed and assured him that he would never be dealt a dishonor again after the days end.

An hour later, the Baron's voice came shrieking nearby as he called for every guest to witness the next and most favored entertainment of all. "Blind Pig's Bluff!", he called. Immediately the guests began to move to the pit where the game was set up. There were trays of food and drink as well as plenty of benches for guests to see. Lanterns all around the pit were lit up showing a large swamp area surrounded by reeds, small mosquito buzzing around the waters. In the middle was a man wearing naught but a pig-shaped helmet was laying face-down. The Baron threw a tomato at the unconscious figure and he was roused with a surprised squeal much to the delight of the onlookers. The helmet was modified so that all sounds from its wearer would only be the grunts and squeals that pigs made. In addition the eye-holes were such that it was nearly impossible to see clearly as he scrambled about on all fours to the delight of the onlookers. I found the Chevalier from before and bid him to take a seat where the wall was shortest and thus the best view as my way of righting the grievous wrong he had suffered I took my own seat opposite him and once I was settled with a fresh wine glass placed in my hand, the games would begin.

"My Lords and Ladies!", called the Baron, standing on a nearby platform and lit with brightly colored lanterns, "Today we invite you to see the Second Act and see the rare and monstrous sight that can only be found in the darkest and wildest remote corners of the world! Man believes himself to be the truest and greatest hunter of the world, so tonight we will put a man on equal terms with the beasts of nature!". At the sounds of the cheering he looked for my gaze and upon receiving a nod of approval he threw his arms wide open and yelled, "Bring forth the terrors of the Nile, the gnashing teeth of insatiable hunger, the cold-blooded beasts, the Apex Predators, THE CROCODILIANS!".

The man let out a sharp squeal of terror as he tried to get the helmet off to no avail as several servants opened gates from three sides of the habitat. The squealing sounds attracted the most enormous Nile Crocodiles as they swam through the water, nearly invisible in the water. The man backed away as one slowly, almost lazily crawled out of the water onto land, its black eyes locked onto its prey, and the smile of teeth opening and closing in eager anticipation at the kill. The Esquire let out panicked grunts and squeals, yet he would get no help and instead his wild gestures for help only got laughter and contemptuous urge to at least try making a sport. Suddenly the crocodile darted forward like a lightening bolt and attempted to bite the Esquire's leg. Somehow he threw himself to the side in time and into the swamp, earning cheers at his luckily move. Flailing in the swamp he pulled himself back to dry land as another Crocodile swam past with a wide, open mouth.

The onlookers continued to watch as he made a mad dash away from the land-based Crocodile and towards the gate. I smiled as he tried to jump the concrete wall, falling short each time and was pelted with food for his trouble. The Chevalier from made his was over to the man with sadistic glee in his eyes as the Esquire finally managed to grab the edge. The Chevalier kicked him in his helmeted head, but to his astonishment and fear the Esquire grabbed him he fell and pulled them both into the pit. Shouts of surprise were heard as the Baron announced, "My oh my! We have another contestant! Let us applause this bravery in the face of what could be suicidal overconfidence! Huzzah! Huzzah!".

Applause and cheers drowned out the man's yelling for help and he locked eyes with me. I gave a pleasant smile as he grabbed the Esquire and threw him at the Crocodile on the land to save himself. The immense reptile again darted like a thunderbolt and snapped its jaws on the man all the way up to his bicep. The Crocodile rolled over, tearing the limb with a sickening crack of bone in one ferocious twist. The audience cheered and called for more as his arm was devoured, bloody squirting in spurts of bright red. Piercing shrieks and squeals of pain were heard as the other Crocodile came out of the water and tore off his right leg in the same brutal twisting motion. The two began to fight over the body, with one biting on his shoulder and the other at his hip. The two twisted in opposite directions and with a final squeal and cracking of bones, tore him in half. The servants looked away in horror while one vomited, evoking laughter and awe at the sight of blood and viscera. The Chevalier backed away and he once again looked at me, not noticing the movement behind him, I noticed it however and as a final farewell I lifted up my glass of wine as a toast to his display. With an accusatory finger, shaking with impotent rage and blinding fear he screamed, "Devil! You Gods-damned demon!". The third Crocodile burst out of the water in a eruption of filthy water with a roar that vibrated the air and snapped its jaws around his torso. He was not quite dead and his muffled screams were heard as he was shook once before the monstrous animal dragged him back into the water, drowning his sounds a the water violently thrashed and crashed amidst the reeds.

The audience cheered and the Baron once again took to his stage and said, "Well Lords and Ladies, it is time to retire for the evening's games must be temporarily concluded. But do not fret! There shall be more displays to follow!".

The others began to leave while I sat by myself and slowly sipped at my wine. The display normally would have brought me some discomfort, but in this particular instance I felt rather gratified by the display. I had removed troublesome guests and at the same time reinforced my rule. It was as I began to leave the area that I noticed one guest remaining, a Lady from the appearance of her. Behind her fan she hid her face as I looked at her. She was perhaps a Countess of high stature given the decorative powdered wig adorned with a ring of ribbons, the highly expensive and unique dress, and the lazy ease with which she carried herself. Around her neck was a small vial held in a glass cylinder and half-filled with red liquid. It was perhaps the waning of the sun that tricked my eyes, but from behind her fan I could see her eyes having a Crimson tinge to them. Her pallor, alabaster skin only brought it out further as she lowered her fan from her face. A subtle, mocking sneer came across her face as well as a knowing gaze. The mockery immediately ruined my previously good mood as she let a red tongue slide across her equally red lips. She stood up and let out a small chuckle as she placed a hand on my shoulder, trailing it to the back of my neck and around to the side before letting it go and retrieving a wine glass. Her hand was cold as the chill of snow, or perhaps a corpse.

She gave another soft laugh as she said in a voice that bordered on the edge of lust and desire, yet somehow immaculately silky, "That was quite the display. Though I am certain you could do much… better. It is such a waste.". Something about her rankled at the most primitive part of me with a maddening prickle that stabbed all over my body and I felt a powerful urge to strangle her and remove her mockery from my sight or perhaps throw her to the Crocodilians below.

As if sensing my thoughts she said, "Oh come, I was merely jesting. Forgive my manners. You will, won't you?". She locked eyes with me and poured her full lips as she took a step closer to me.

An urge to strike her filled me, but I kept my urge in check as I replied, "But of course my lady. Let me formally introduce myself to show good faith. I am the Master of the Darkest Estate.", I took her deathly cold hand and kissed the back of it, "Welcome to my home.".

The woman took her dress and in a display of formal courtesy she said, "My Lord, I am but a Countess, so you do me honor in personally welcoming me.". Her words were laced with honey that spoke of promises, but it was something I had heard before and it always was an easy way to get me put out. With hidden effort I said, "Come, let us retire into the manor.". I turned to leave when she laced her arm into my own and said, "That would be lovely.". Her grip was stronger than I anticipated, almost painfully so, but I had no choice but to lead her into my home. As soon as I was able to, I removed her from my presence and made to retreat to my personal quarters. My retreat was thwarted however when to my fury I discovered that it was being used by a Chevalier and his Courtesans in a disgusting display of the flesh. The itch was returning and multiplying with each passing moment and I found myself clawing at my body to relieve the sensation. My mounting fury began to increase the more I walked throughout my home, seeing the guests pursue indulgences with wild abandon, utterly careless of who was watching. The final straw came when my library, one of the largest rooms in my Estate was being used as the grounds for an appalling sea of debauchery that I cannot bring myself to describe.

The madness was becoming more than I could bear and so it was with a strange sense of detachment I found myself making my way to the foyer of my home when the terrible prickling began to stop. Detached and distance from the people around me I stared outwards, lost in thought as I tried to drown out the noise of vulgar laughter when something caught my eye; a bewitching predator slipped in amidst the swarm of tittering syncopates. Though outwardly urbane I could sense in her a mocking thirst, her eyes as crimson as the wine sliding around her glass and the vial around her neck. The taunting gaze she gave me was the final straw and I raised my own glass of wine to toast her, silently inviting her forth. Driven half-mad by cloying vulgarity, I plotted to rid myself of this lurking threat in a grand display of sadistic sport. The plot brought a smile to my lips in appreciation of its straightforward simplicity and yet decadent application.

She approached me and together we drained our wine before a new maid came by to collect the empty glasses. "Master.", she said before bowing her head and scurrying off to the kitchens. I offered the Countess my arm as we walked to the balcony overlooking the Crimson Court. The strings of music began to play from the Estate, reaching our ears all the way to the balcony we stood upon.

"Would you honor me with a dance my lady?", I asked.

"Of course. Now is the perfect time for a last dance, for the hour grows late.", she said.

We began our waltz and slowly but surely I retrieved the knife in my coat when I was certain she was not attentive. The music began to reach a crescendo and I knew the time was right as I held her hand with my left, her other placed on my shoulder, and my blade hidden and gleaming behind my back. The moon was our backdrop in the stage and it began to glow brighter with every passing second as we reached near the conclusion of our waltz. But as the moment drew nigh the gibbous moon revealed her inhuman desires in all their stultifying hideousness!

Before my eyes her charming, youthful features took on the appearance of a withered, and furiously hungry hag, her mouth opening wider than my fist by two times, and her eyes bleeding pure crimson light. The worst of part of her sudden transformation were two clawed pedipalps that burst from her face and waved frantically to tear at my face. Her strength increased by a frightening amount and I knew I could not pull away nor escape. With only one option left to me, faster than I thought possible, my free hand came from behind me and the knife plunged deeply into her neck. She let out a shriek that was quickly strangled and was replaced by the chittering a horrific insect as her eyes rolled into the back of her head, the crimson glow replaced by the horrible sheen of blackness from an insect, her nose extending into a hideous spear that shy of centimeters nearly pierced my eye. She tried to pull away, but I held fast and slowly I felt her grip weaken as her monstrous features slowly morphed back to her previous face. My teeth was gritted as she made one last attempt to fight me off with a gurgling hiss, but I stabbed her neck with a snarl multiple times until she was too weak to be a threat to me and she slowly collapsed on her side. I realized I was breathing hard, my heart wildly pounding at the sudden supernatural horror I had witnessed. She twitched several more times and made one last attempt to pick herself up and I held my knife at the ready before the abomination collapsed one final time

Mercifully the morbid encounter resolved itself in my favor. But now I was left with a new problem and was at a loss of what to do. This was clearly an event of which I hadn't even begun to fully yet grasp and with a surprising ease I cleaned my knife on the hem of the creatures dress, now feeling similar to the exoskeleton of a winged pest. It was then that I heard a call for more wine that echoed and was met with more cries for fresh wine. I looked between the door to the balcony and to the now still Countess at my feet. It was then that I was struck by inspiration again and a smile I could not help began to appear on my face. I stabbed my knife into the neck once more of the Countess to assure myself of her demise, picked up her corpse, and dropped her over the side of the balcony. It was troublesome, but I would have to do the work myself lest the servants cause undue trouble. The winery in the Estate was very close by and I would revenge myself against that disgusting swarm that continued bleating for wine. I rushed past my guests and servants, ignoring them all and reached the body that was thankfully still unmoving. Picking her up I carried her all the way to the winery, but as I passed by the enclosure of the Crocodilians I stumbled when a swarm of mosquitos burst from the reeds. Their maddening buzz nearly made me drop my grisly cargo into the pit, but they quickly vanished. I noticed however that the vial had broken and leaked its content into the murky waters.

Too deeply into my plans was I that I promptly put the incident in the back of my mind as I finally made my way to the winery and shut the door behind myself before tossing her frame from myself. I gathered all the empty bottles I could as well as a large basin and funnel before taking a generous drink to prepare myself for the task ahead. There was rope that was luckily nearby for tying wine barrels together I tied it around her dress, arms, and legs as tightly as I could, for I still had the lurking fear that this monster would spring to life at any moment to avenge the damage I had done. Next I threw the end over a wooden beam and pulled the Countess' body up until she was at the satisfactory height. I tied the end of my rope to an adjacent wooden beam and I set to work pursuing degeneracy in its most decadent forms.

I began the arduous process of draining blood from her body by making careful incisions along her major arteries. The blood filled the basin almost faster than I could have hoped for and I hastily began to fill the magenta bottles bearing the name of my household. The bleeding corpse continuously released its crimson substance many times over the natural amount prescribed in the human form. In but the span of an hour I had filled over a dozen bottles of wine with the blood. If my guests wanted wine so badly, then they would get their wine. I retreated to my home and swallowing my disgust I approached the Baron as he scolded my musicians for their poor talents. I privately told him I would need him to gather the guests to the Crimson Court for a new wine that I had saved specifically for the night of All Hallows' eve. Attendance was mandatory for all, except of course my personal servants. To assure my scheme's successful implementation, I dismissed all my personal servants from my home to be with their loved ones and they would resume their chores the next day.

Upon receipt of my instructions, I gathered every available Manservant who was not in my employ and bade them to follow me to the winery. But to my astonishment and horror I found the door opened and a small trail of blood seeping into the courtyard. I rushed forward into the winery to the astonishment of the servants and saw that aside from the full bottles, the body of the Countess was gone, and the rope was left in pieces as though violently ripped apart. Hastily seeking to calm my fright I instructed the servants to take the wine to the tables to be served and they obeyed without question.

The Viscount was still present at the tables, when I returned, scratching at his scalp beneath his wig and for a moment I thought I saw small, almost invisible black dots moving around his wig, but my thoughts quickly turned to the arrival of the guests. The Baron announced that the Third Act was to begin and the grandest event was to come. The air pulsed with anticipation as I revealed the unnatural terroir of the house vintage. When they asked me the name of this particular vintage I paused briefly.

Then a brief and cruel smile came to my lips as I answered, "In honor of this day, a revelation led me to find the appropriate title for this Angel Liquor. In so keeping with the spirit of All Hallows' Eve, I named this… _**The Blood**_.".

This deceptive, scintillating jest was well-received by the guests as their glasses were filled to the brim with The Blood. I raised my chalice in a toast silently mocking the greedy fools as they quaffed the liquid. To my astonishment, they did not at all appear to be put off by the sample, but instead craved it evermore. My private joke seemed to have failed me as I saw even the servants indulge in The Blood. The Viscount and Baron were avariciously trying to outdo the other by drinking whole bottles of wine at once. My mood felt spoiled as I gazed downwards at the liquid. Upon gazing at it, I began to notice its aroma was enticing, its appearance flowing like melted rubies, and I felt my curiosity begin to peak. Surely… one small sip wouldn't hurt? I brought the edge of the drink to my lips, but before I could sample The Blood, I noticed that my attendees were looking quite sick and swayed about drunkenly. In triumph I saw their inebriation take hold along with a deathly ill pallor. They were beginning to slowly scatter as if in a daze and I beamed in the knowledge my prank had not failed after all. Victoriously, I placed the glass against my lips and swallowed a small amount of the Blood, congratulating myself on a successful revenge.

But my exultation was cut short as the attending Gentry turned upon themselves in an orgy of indescribable frenzy! Their teeth sharpened like fangs, their eyes blazed crimson like the Countess, and as one they began to tear themselves apart like animals. They bit and gnashed at their bodies, ripping flesh from their bones before turning on each other. The Viscount began to greedily devour the food in front of him even in an ever greater wolfish display of gluttony than before. It was then that the lice leaped out of his wig the size of gold coins before they grew to the size of large dogs. This was unnoticed by the ravenous creature as the lice locked themselves on the heads of his Syncopates, causing them to flee into the gardens. My mind became numb with horror as the monsters continued to tear into themselves and each other with unceasing brutality, then I realized just what exactly had brought forth the inner demons the nobles had. I dropped the glass containing The Blood in horror, but by then it was too late. A single drop of that forbidden tannin gifted me with a dizzying glimpse of hibernating horror beneath my feet and in that moment, I understood the terrible truth of the world.

 _I was taken to a point beyond the physical reality of the world as we know it. How could I possibly describe what I saw? I saw with eyes that had been opened to the truth of the world, no longer blinded by ignorance. Such ignorance… the truth was plainly before our eyes and yet we still cannot see it for what it is!_

 _The Alpha and The Omega…_

 _Father and Mother…_

 _Our Creator and Our Destroyer…_

The Truth is with us and only now was the barest fraction of that truth was made known to me even as it began to fade away. I stood reborn, molted by newfound knowledge. It was not yet time however for the Truth to be revealed, yet I knew now my purpose, and had gained an unshakeable knowledge of what my reason to exist was. To see this through I would have much work to do, to be able to revisit that glimpse again to truly understand the Primordial Truth. I returned to reality with detached interest as I saw the now transformed guests crawling about my feet. With a gesture I commanded them to retreat into the gardens, never to come out, nor reveal themselves forevermore while I lived. As one they obeyed and with the clicking of newly grown teeth and pedipalps they vanished and scuttled into the darkness.

 _The Truth… the terrible, perfect Primordial Truth._

It was my destiny to seek out the Primordial Truth and reveal its gospel unto the world, and I basked I the direction my life was now to take, my head throbbing to the growing hind of winged vermin come to drink the tainted blood… of the Darkest Dungeon.

* * *

Immortal: Yes, the Crimson Curse is now unleashed. It has laid dormant now for a very, very long time. But now that the Heir has returned to the Hamlet and attempts to right the wrongs of his foolish Ancestor, the revelry will begin anew.

Happy Halloween!


End file.
